Pride and Prescience

“Am I to pretend belief in the ridiculous?”

“No. But we’re surrounded by ridiculous people. Most of the ton lead ridiculous, useless lives spent in dissipation and selfish pursuits. Just look at some of the people right there in the drawing room with us. Has Mr. Hurst ever exerted himself beyond running trump in a game of whist? He is fortunate to have been born a gentleman, because I don’t think the man could survive if he ever had to support himself. Yet we tolerate him, and others like him, because he has money and social standing. At least Randolph spends his time seeking to understand something beyond himself.”

“Perhaps I spoke too strongly — I did not mean to make him uncomfortable. However, if his studies are legitimate, he should be able to defend them without considering the debate a personal attack.”

“Darcy, sometimes your manner lends the air of a personal attack to an observation on the weather. You can be very intimidating, you know, especially to strangers.” Not wishing to upbraid him too severely, she lightened her tone. “Though, of course, you never frightened me.”

“Does anything?”

She pondered the question a moment as the carriage turned at a bend in the road. “The thought of someone close to me suffering injury. And you?”

He was equally reflective. “The same. Or losing my mental faculties, like we fear Mrs. Parrish may be in the way of. I sincerely hope the professor’s efforts prove beneficial in that regard.”

“See — even you think some part of his knowledge holds merit.”

He shrugged. “I have more faith in folk medicine than in folklore. If he wishes to perfume her with spearmint, I do not see the harm.” He smiled. “Though I believe Mrs. Parrish prefers French scents.”

“Enough of Mrs. Parrish. Though I pity her circumstances, I look forward to a day spent free of her.” Beyond her own wish to escape Caroline’s presence for a time, Elizabeth took comfort in the small size of today’s party, as it meant her mother would have only Darcy and Mr. Bingley to whom to expose herself.

“But you and Mrs. Parrish have become such intimate friends, strolling Netherfield’s halls during the night.”

“Oh, yes,” she said dryly. “If our acquaintance continues to warm so quickly, we’ll be using Christian names by this afternoon.”

“Pray, what bosom confidences have you lately exchanged?”

“She has related to me every particular of Mr. Parrish’s assets.”

His brows rose. “Indeed? And what have you told her in turn?”

“That you snore.”

They passed a few more minutes in light conversation before the coach suddenly slowed. “Sir?” their driver called from without. “I think you’ll want to take a look ahead.”

Darcy stuck his head out the window to peer down the road. Elizabeth’s heartbeat accelerated as their vehicle came to a halt altogether. “What is it?” she asked.

He brought his head back in and looked at her. His face had drained of color. “Bingley’s carriage overturned.”

Thirteen

“Nothing therefore remained to be done but to… throw into the account of accident or mistake whatever could not be otherwise explained.”

Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 17

A sickening sensation overwhelmed Elizabeth at the sight of the mangled carriage. Though Darcy commanded her to stay back while he checked inside for Jane and Bingley, her legs shook so badly she could not have approached anyway. She at once couldn’t bear to look, and couldn’t bear not to look, at the splintered wood and twisted metal wrapped around a large tree. So her gaze ricocheted from the barouche to the surrounding terrain as she swallowed bile and took deep breaths of cold air, struggling to block out the smell of blood and the pained screams of writhing horses.

Their driver grasped her elbow to steady her and suggested she return to their own coach. She refused. “Go assist Mr. Darcy.” Jane and Bingley needed his help more than she did. She hoped.

“They are not inside.” Darcy quickly cast his gaze around the accident site. “Over there! They must have been thrown from the carriage.”

Jane and Bingley lay near a copse of tall evergreen trees, the lowest branches having obscured sight of them from the road. They were alive — unconscious and cold, but alive. Elizabeth blinked back tears of relief at the discovery. Bingley’s driver, crushed beneath the wreckage, had not been as fortunate.

“Jane? Jane?” She grasped her sister’s hand, willing her to awaken.

Jane stirred. Without opening her eyes, she slowly lifted a palm to her crown. “My head…”

“Hush, dear Jane. It’s all right.” She choked down a sob. “You’re going to be all right.”

Darcy roused Bingley, who also complained of a headache. Otherwise, though battered and bruised, the couple appeared to have escaped serious injury. Elizabeth and Darcy assisted them into the coach while their driver attended Bingley’s driver and horses. The unfortunate servant he discreetly wrapped in a blanket and secured to the back of the coach. One of the animals suffered two fractured legs and had to be shot; the other three appeared frightened but unharmed once disentangled from their harnesses.

Jane shivered, prompting Darcy to remove his mantle and drape it over her shoulders. She huddled into it. “I feel as if I’ll never be warm again.”

“We will get you home as quickly as possible,” Darcy said. “Others can come back and see to the wreckage. Was there anything in the carriage we should retrieve before leaving?”

“Perhaps Jane’s reticule,” Bingley said.

Jane shook her head. “It holds nothing that seems of any value to me right now. Let us please just leave this place.”

“We shall.” Darcy looked out the window. “My driver has almost finished securing your team to our coach.”

“What of our driver?”

Darcy hesitated. Bingley had already been told the servant’s fate, but Jane had not. His silence proved answer enough.

“Poor man.” Jane’s face, already ashen, somehow lost still more color. Elizabeth knew her sister felt responsible for the death simply because it occurred on a journey undertaken for her pleasure. “What a dreadful way to die. I hope he did not suffer.”

“It appears he died quickly,” Darcy said.

“He was in our employ only a fortnight. His mother is a widow — he was supporting her. I shall have to write her with the awful news. Charles, we must send her something.”

“Of course.” Bingley dabbed at a scrape on his forehead.

Elizabeth approved of the gift; she would have done the same thing. But how had the horrible event occurred in the first place? “Can either of you tell us what happened?”

“I think we lost a wheel,” Bingley replied. “Since Jane and I were within the barouche, we couldn’t see exactly what occurred. The carriage must have hit a rock or something in the road because it suddenly shifted. The disturbance spooked the horses. They took off in a gallop — or as close to one as they could come with the carriage careening behind them. The next thing we knew, we were rolling over.”

“That’s when we hit the tree,” Jane finished. “And that’s the last I remember.”

Elizabeth again expressed gratitude that the couple had survived the ordeal relatively unscathed. Darcy echoed her sentiments, then left to speak with their driver.

“I noticed some wild-looking tracks maybe a hundred yards back, sir,” Elizabeth heard the servant say. “I didn’t see a wheel along the road, but I wasn’t looking for one, either.”

Her husband’s footsteps retreated and soon faded beneath the sounds of the driver finishing with the horses.